East of the Sun

Chapter 15

The northern tip of Alviora's mountain range bled into tall, conifer covered hills that rose like undulating waves. The vastness of which it was easy to get lost in. Morning lent the sun's light to the scene, but no warmth, and the air tingled as if one walked through crystals of ice.

Rute, though, had some kind of internal compass, that not only led them toward the Darkmire mines at a reasonable pace, but also detected human habitation from—very long—distances. He grunted as they passed over the third identical rise, passed trees that twisted and branched out like every other, and nodded his head downward toward the valley.

There, near the base of the next rise, sat a circular stone tower, leaning precariously to one side. Wooden beams propped against it as though to prevent it from toppling. Quite possibly they were the only things distinguishing between an actual shelter and a large rubble pile. A small smudge of smoke rose from...somewhere. The building must have a chimney, but it was invisible to sight.

They managed to find a scarcely used game trail to stumble in that direction. Well, actually, Bryn stumbled...a lot. Rute managed his bulk gracefully. Nkemdilim slipped through the trees like...a squirrel. He jumped from branch to branch above their heads. It looked enjoyable, except the time he almost slipped and had to scrabble around a group of pine cones or fall to his squirrely death.

As they neared the building—a generous word for what it was—Bryn smelled wood burning and the delectable scents of soup or stew.

Her fingers clenched, imagining the warmth inside, and her stomach grumbled at the thought of a warm meal.

The path broadened into a rough, muddy rut and the trees thinned into a small clearing. Nkemdilim raced ahead on the trail, finding the branches no longer sufficient to scurry through.

Fortunately he was small, and Bryn and Rute lingered several paces behind when the spear landed. Nkemdilim dove out of the way with blinding speed and raced up the nearest tree, several paces away. He chittered angrily. Rute froze, crouched where he had been standing, his snout lifted to the wind.

"Don't move," he warned.

No worries there. She had no desire to be impaled. After long moments of sniffing Rute moved forward, toward the spear. He brushed away a layer of snow and pine needles searching for something beneath them.

Bryn looked to the trees at the edge of the clearing, where the spear had originated. If someone lurked there with malicious intent she didn't see them.

"A trap," Rute declared after a long moment. "The trigger is here," he lifted a tiny rope. It pulled up the surrounding snow in both directions continuing on its way to...wherever it went. "It is sensitive too, if Nkemdilim can trigger it."

"Great. What are the chances that it is the only trap between here and the front door?" And who set traps way out in the middle of nowhere? Just what kind of visitors did this weaver expect?

"Not good." Rute studied the path and the surrounding snow. "It is best to travel off the path, I think."

Bryn agreed. It made sense that the traps would concentrate on the place where one expected to walk. She followed his footsteps to the right of the trail, taking care to place her feet exactly where he had. It wasn't cowardly, she convinced herself, to stay back a few paces either. Undoubtedly Rute could handle a spear in the side far better than she.

The right side of the path proved no safer. Did the weaver have traps set all over his clearing? Why? Did nefarious characters often come knocking on his door.

She considered they probably qualified as nefarious characters. Especially Rute.

Five more traps and a volley of poison darts later they at last reached the door.